


And Let Me Talk to You With Your Silence

by alenie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, hugs for derek hale, mention of sexual abuse, reference to past kate/derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:18:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alenie/pseuds/alenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When I was sixteen, I met a girl,” Derek says eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Let Me Talk to You With Your Silence

**Author's Note:**

> The underage refers to brief mentions of previous Derek/Kate.

After months of pushing and shoving and name-calling and saving each others’ lives and refusing to admit that maybe they don’t hate each other as much as they thought, they are finally here. In Stiles’ bed. Derek is lying on his back, loose-limbed and relaxed, his hands on Stiles’ hips as Stiles perches above him. They’ve barely done anything more than kissing, but it’s been amazing.

Stiles leans over and kisses Derek’s jaw, rubbing his cheek against Derek’s scruff. It’s tingly. It feels…nice. He tries it again, harder, and feels his skin turn hot from the friction. Derek laughs under him.

“You’ll have a hard time explaining your face to your dad if you keep that up. Unless you’re ready to tell him about us?”

“Oh god no,” Stiles blurts out. “Um. Shit. I didn’t mean that the way it sounds, you know that, right? It’s just I got you arrested for murder that one time and all and you’re kind of old, I mean not _old_ old because relatively speaking you’re young but-”

“Stiles,” Derek interjects.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay. Yes, okay, I can absolutely do that,” Stiles says and ducks his head back to Derek’s neck. He avoids the stubble. No stubble burn today, no siree.

He kisses a path down Derek’s body, down the middle of his chest. Derek’s nipples are intriguing- he thinks maybe he’d like to lick them, or possibly suck on them- but perhaps just not yet.

He works his way down to Derek’s abs, and then curiosity and oral fixation get the best of him and he gives in and sticks his tongue out and gives Derek a lick.

Before he can even register the taste of Derek’s skin on his tongue, he’s flat on his back, pinned down by his wrists, with Derek crouched above him. _Growling_. And it’s not the “god-Stiles-will-you-ever-shut-up-and-do-as-I-say” kind of growl. Derek’s told him a thousand times over that he’s going to rip Stiles’ throat out with this teeth, but this is the first time Stiles has ever believed he might really do it.

Derek’s fangs are out and his eyes are glowing red in the dim light of Stiles’ bedroom, and he looks about five seconds away from tearing into Stiles’ skin. Stiles adopts the deer-in-the-headlights look, holding as still as he can and trying not to breath. Something tells him that struggling? Would be a very, very bad idea.

“Derek,” he squeaks. “I’m…sorry? Let me up.” His heart feels like it’s about to pound out his chest, and the bones of his wrists are already aching from Derek’s grip. Derek looks like he didn’t even hear Stiles, like he doesn’t even know who Stiles _is_.

“ _Derek_ ,” he says, louder now. “It’s me. Stiles. Friend, not food, remember?”

Derek blinks at him.

“Stiles,” he says, and Stiles watches as he shudders like he’s coming in out of the cold. Derek closes his eyes and dips his head down. The bruising pressure on his wrists doesn’t let up, but Derek’s fangs slowly retract and his face smoothes out. That’s a start.

“Good. That’s good,” Stiles says, trying to ignore the way his voice his shaking. “Let go of my wrists now, okay?”

Stiles tugs against Derek’s grip and Derek looks down to where he has Stiles pinned. He still doesn’t seem to be quite all there, but he drops his hold on Stiles and moves away unsteadily, until he’s as far from Stiles as he can get, hunched over at the end of the bed.

For his part, Stiles scoots up the bed so his back’s against the headboard. He doesn’t think he’s in danger anymore but he is hella freaked out because, hello, he legitimately thought Derek was going to eat him for a minute there. He watches as Derek yanks his shirt back on before looking over at him.

“Did I hurt you?” Derek asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles says, and then promptly recants when he notices how absolutely horrified Derek looks. “I mean, no. Not so much. I’m fine. Just, um, could you maybe tell me what happened? Because I thought things were going pretty well, but then you went all wolfy, so, uh, obviously they weren’t. I’m kind of confused at the moment, to be honest.”

Derek looks like he’s folding in on himself. He draws his knees up to his chest and crosses his arms over them.

“There are some things I should have told you,” he admits. “About-” He sighs, and his hands clench on his knees. He looks like he’s in pain.

“I-” Derek tries again, and Stiles realized abruptly that Derek is _shaking._ Whatever’s going on with him, it’s something big. Stiles abandons his post at the headboard and closes the gap between them, stopping just short of Derek’s personal space.

“Dude, it’s cool. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek mutters automatically.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles says, and he throws caution to the wind and presses his palm to Derek’s shoulder, wrapping his fingers around the curve of muscle and bone, feeling the heat of Derek’s skin bleed through his t-shirt.

Derek doesn’t shrug him off, so Stiles gently moves his hand up and down, petting Derek’s shoulder.

“What do you need?” he asks. “Is it okay for me to touch you? Should I stop?”

Derek shakes his head, finding Stiles’ free hand and lacing their fingers together.

“I’ve never told anyone before,” Derek says in a low voice. He opens his mouth. Shuts it again.

Clearly whatever he has to say isn’t going to come easily. Stiles can work with that.

“All right,” he says, and tugs at Derek’s arm.

Derek blinks at him, confused. “What?”

“I’m tired,” he says. It’s a half-truth. “And I’m cold, and I’m worried about my boyfriend. Can we lie down together?”

Derek considers this.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Stiles says, and this seems to make Derek’s mind up for him.

“I want to,” he says.

Getting under the sheets and blankets is awkward because Derek is unwilling to let go of Stiles’ hand. Neither of them speaks again until they’re curled up close, facing each other. It’s warm and cozy under the blankets, and Stiles hopes that it feels as safe for Derek as it does for him.

He rubs Derek’s hand with his thumb, and waits.

“When I was sixteen, I met a girl,” Derek says eventually. “She was older than me, but I-I liked her. A lot. And I thought she liked me. I thought- I told her what I was, and she said she didn’t mind, that it wasn’t important.”

He pauses, and his hand tightens in Stiles’.

“Her name was Kate Argent.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Stiles says. “Derek, that’s...”

“Yeah,” Derek says, and he sounds awful. Wrecked.

“God. And then she- Christ. Derek.”

“When she had me chained up under the house,” he pushes on determinedly, “she- what you did, just before-”

“She touched you,” Stiles finishes. “Your stomach, she- like I did.” His mouth tastes sour.

Derek nods. “I thought that this, with you- you’re nothing like her, I thought I could ignore what happened, that I wouldn’t have to tell you, but then...”

He shifts uneasily, fidgeting, and glances towards the window, like maybe he’s thinking about leaving.

“Hey” Stiles says hastily. If Derek leaves now, he’ll probably never come back. “We can do this. It’ll be okay. I won’t touch you anywhere you don’t want me to, I swear.”

“I should go,” Derek says, but he’s still clinging on to Stiles’ hand.

“I’d like it if you stayed.”

Derek presses his other hand against Stiles’ chest, like he’s listening to Stiles’ heartbeat.

He stays.

 


End file.
